Claire nodded assent.
“Oh, yes; I have that poor satisfaction at least. I was most methodical and prudent, but I don’t know that that’s going to be much consolation if I lose my nice frocks, and am too poor to buy any more.”
The last phrase was prompted by a proud determination to sail under no false colours in the eyes of Mrs Fanshawe’s son; but the picture evoked thereby was sufficiently tragic to bring a cloud over her face. The memory of each separate gown rose before her, looking distractingly dainty and becoming; she saw a vision of herself as she might have been, and faced a future bounded by eternal blue serge. All the tragedy of the thought was in her air, and her companion cried quickly—
“You won’t need to buy them! They’ll turn up all right, I am quite sure of that. The worst that can happen is a day or two’s delay. After all, you know, there are thousands of honest folk to a single thief, and even a thief would probably prefer a small money reward to useless halves of dresses! If you hear nothing by to-morrow, you might offer a reward.”
“Oh, I will!” Claire said gratefully. “Thank you for thinking of it.”
No more porters having for the moment appeared in sight, they now turned, and slowly retraced their steps. Claire, covertly regarding her companion, wondered why she felt convinced that he was a soldier; Erskine Fanshawe in his turn covertly regarded Claire, and wondered why it was that she seemed different from any girl he had seen before. Then tentatively he put a personal question.
“Do you know London well, Miss Gifford? My mother told me you were—er—coming to settle—”
“Not at all well, as a whole. I know the little bit around Regent Street, and the Park, and the places one sees in a week’s visit, but that’s all. We never stayed long in town when we came to England. I shall enjoy exploring on half holidays when I am free from work. I am a school-mistress!” said Claire with an air, and gathered from her companion’s face that he knew as much already, and considered it a subject for commiseration. He looked at her with sympathetic eyes, and asked deeply—
“Hate it very much?”
“Not at all. Quite the contrary. I adore it. At least, that’s to say, I haven’t begun yet, but I feel sure I shall!” Claire cried ardently; and at that they both laughed with a delightful sense of understanding and camaraderie. At that moment Claire felt a distinct pang at the thought that never again would she have the opportunity of speaking and laughing with this attractive, eminently companionable man; then her attention was distracted by the appearance of two more porters, who had each to be interviewed in his turn.